The Fallen
by freakochicko
Summary: “Many fall. Only a few have the will to get back up again.” Short musings by the ones who've fallen from grace following the events of X3. Rogue, Pyro, Mystique, Magneto, Angel and Jean Grey. ONESHOT.


**The Fallen**  
_-Many fall. Only a few have the will to get back up again.-_

_Short musings by the ones who have fallen from grace and how the people whom they thought had **cared** for them caused their descent: of Raven towards Erik, Warren towards his father, Marie towards the men in her life, Jean Grey towards Charles, Erik towards humanity, St. John towards Bobby and Marie._

-

**_The Raven_**

She flexed her pale, slender fingers for what felt like the hundredth time that day. She could feel the effects of the accursed Cure draining away, the suppressant in the anti-mutagen fading. It would only be a matter of time before she became herself once more. A matter of time before returning to her true, former glory. Only, she didn't know if that was what she wanted anymore; to live the life of who she wanted to be, or the life of who she _really_ was.

The red glow of the setting sun was fast disappearing. She looked down at her fingers once more, so paper-white and so disgustingly _human_. She had lost everything that was her. She had lost everything that _made_ her who she was. She had lost everything that made her _Mystique. _The deadly beautiful, highly-skilled Mystique. But now, she was just _Darkholme_. Raven Darkholme.

She was human.

She had lost the very ability to make her anything and everything she wanted to be.

She was _nothing._

Her fingers curled into a fist, anger began to swallow her. Was this what she wanted? _No._ Was this who she truly was? _No._ Was this how it was going to end? _Hell_ _no._ The feelings of ultimate betrayal seeped into her as she looked up into the darkening sky. She was left mercilessly to wither and perish the very day she was reduced to nothing on that cold, hard floor. She had given her very existence to save that of another's. It was the day she was disowned by the one person whom she thought held every ounce of high esteem and respect for her. But that admiration was only ever reserved for the _Mystique_ in her, never the Darkholme. Always the mutant. Never the human.

She wondered if she would still have done it - saved the mutant in Erik Lensherr - if she had known that in doing so, she would have killed off her very identity. Deep within her, though, she knew she would have done it. Even if it had been lead and not needle. Even if she had died in the process, she would have protected him.

With the Cure being deemed temporary, it was all she could do not to go after the man who betrayed her, and kill him out of vengeance. She wasn't at the bloody battle field on Alcatraz that forsaken night, but she knew that Magneto - all-powerful leader of the Brotherhood - had finally been 'cured' himself. She had watched it all from the news on television. _Serves that bastard right,_ was all that went through her mind as the revelations were made on screen, _he deserved what he got. For manipulating us. For manipulating **me**._

She would hunt him down. Raven knew he was most probably in hiding right now; waiting and waiting in deep quiet for the eventual return of his powers. She would kill him. She would make sure he suffered for what he did to her. Before he struck again, she would make him pay. She would watch him fall to the ground and beg for mercy. And she would laugh mockingly in his face.

But would she really?

She smiled sardonically to herself. She knew she wouldn't. Couldn't. She knew that in his eyes, he would only see her as Mystique. But in her eyes, she didn't see Magneto, the mutant whom she admired for his sheer power and might alone. Instead, she saw Erik Lensherr, the human who had earned her deepest respect.

Somewhere deep within her, she knew their paths would cross once again. One day. And when that time came, she would do what she had to. For now, she would let him be. Because revenge wasn't in her. Not for him. Because her undying respect ran deeper than the blood in her veins. Deeper than anything else.

Even after the fall.

For a split second, her eyes turned a bright yellow as she tilted her head towards the setting sun. Briefly, she glimpsed the silhouette of a winged creature soaring far off in the distance.

And she smiled to herself.

_Even after the fall..._

-

**_The Angel_**

Warren Worthington III took long, steady flights like these because he needed to clear his mind of the things that constantly bothered him. Constantly plagued his mind like like a swarm of parasitic, blood sucking demons. As the fading sun cast its final, wavering glow upon the city, the angel landed softly - perched quietly - atop the Golden Gate bridge. The wrecked bridge that still lead to Alcatraz Island. No one had bothered to start fixing it into its former place just yet. It was a reminder of what happened to humanity after some pathetic 'Cure' was introduced.

He scanned the horizon with deep, haunting eyes.

He didn't understand.

He should be happy. He was the son of a billionaire dammit. So then why the hell was he feeling so goddamn depressed? He was isolated. Nowhere to go without feeling victimised. The staring and the pointing, the ridicule and the taunting. He couldn't take that. But somehow, he didn't care either. It wasn't what bothered him. He was a reserved, withdrawn, secluded soul. He didn't mind the feeling of being outcast and being different. It didn't make him feel any less inhuman.

No.

He knew why he was out there on the bridge that very moment. His _real_ insecurity.

His father.

His damned, rich, proper, immaculate, _perfect_ father.

_He_ was the very reason he had been ashamed of his mutant deformation in the first place. That's what he called it. A _deformation_. Like it was some bloody curse that befell their rich, perfect family. Like it was the worse thing that could happen to them all. He was an eyesore. An _error_. Warren Worthington III was just an error.

When they made their first appearance, those ugly stubs on the blades of his shoulders, Warren had grabbed the blade in a frenzy to saw them off. The only thing that flashed through his mind had been his father. He couldn't see him like that. He had to be perfect. He had to be what his dad wanted. Had to be _everything_ his dad wanted him to be. Because if his father saw him, tainted as a mutant, he wouldn't know what to do.

But his father had seen for himself. And ever since then, Warren had felt no peace. He was labelled. He was_ different_. He was something _less than human._

His father still loved him. Hell, his father went to lengths just to see if he could create a cure on behalf of his son. So that he wouldn't be so _different._

But that didn't change anything. He saw the look on his face when he saw the blood-drenched feathers on the bathroom tiles. That look of absolute terror, disbelief... disgust. He was repulsed by what he saw. And Warren would never forget that look.

The Angel sighed heavily, his wings flapping helplessly behind him as he looked down below at the lifeless bridge. The darkness was all around him now. The sun was gone. Disappeared over the horizon. Or maybe it was because dark, ominous clouds had suddenly taken over the sky. There was an inevitable storm coming.

He knew he should get back to the Mansion soon.

That was his home now.

He and his father may have a deeper understanding of each other now. And they respected each other. As father and son. But Warren found that he couldn't forgive him just yet. As much as he wanted to, he couldn't do it.

The troubled man hefted his huge, snow-white wings and threw himself off the Golden Gate bridge, taking flight in the direction of the Institute.

Maybe one day he would finally find it within himself.

_Maybe one day..._

-

**_The Untouchable_**

She kicked her unobtrusive bed vehemently. She felt betrayed. She slammed her clenched fist against the wall, not caring in the slightest when pain shot up her arm.

She felt _cheated_.

Loud thunder erupted from the heavens above and she spun around to stare out of her bedroom window. Light rain had just started spattering on the glass. She could see that even through the darkness. She glimpsed a shadow gliding towards the front entrance, a bolt of lightning illuminating stark, white wings. And then another loud clap of thunder.

Marie grunted, not feeling the tears slide down her cheeks. Everything was falling apart. Every fucking thing was falling apart.

And all she could do was stand in the sidelines and watch it all happen.

First, her nightmare began. People got hurt because of her. _She_ herself got hurt because of her. Everyone was hurt just _being_ around her.

Who she was. _What_ she was.

She was losing everyone. And she didn't know if it was because she was distancing herself from them or because they just didn't want to be too close to her. Because her fucking mutation was back. She was distancing herself from others because it was back. Others were distancing themselves from her because her mutation was back. It was all one fucking mutual relationship.

And she knew that she had lost all of them.

_Ironic_, she thought wearily, _that the people that I've truly lost are all right here in my head._

_Logan, John, Bobby. _They were all there. People whom have made huge impressions in her life.

But she lost Logan to that Jean Grey woman. She was dead now. But he never had the time for her anymore even after that. She knew she should have _expected_ it; that Logan, the man in her life whom she trusted the most, would one day just drift away. There was no heart-to-heart talk between them anymore, just like in the past, there was none of that. In fact, his fatherly love had dwindled into nothingness ever since Jean Grey had 'died' at Alkali Lake. And anything else between them had dissipated when she went after the Cure. It was as though their relationship had never existed. And Marie felt as though one of the most important building blocks in her life had just disappeared - crumbled into dust.

At that moment, Marie felt fresh, hot tears spill down her face again. She wanted the old Logan back. The pernickety but over-protective, fatherly but amicable Logan. However, she knew he was gone forever.

And he was just one of the people she'd lost to the effects of time.

Time... She really, really hated it. Marie wished it would just stop. Stop, rewind itself and just pause. Back to when everything had been smooth-sailing and she and her friends had been happy.

Marie paused blankly at the thought. Friends? What friends did she have now? The only true friends she had were Bobby Drake and St. John Allerdyce. And where were they now?

WHERE WERE THEY NOW?

Bitterly, almost desperately, she tried to recall the day she last saw John in person. _Pyro_, he used to call himself. Pyro and not _John_. Never John. That name just pissed him off. The last time she saw him was when he'd walked out on them both; Bobby and her. _Sick of all that kid's table shit. _Truthfully, Marie had been sick of it all too. And sometimes she just wished that she had gone with him.

But she hadn't.

And sometimes she regretted that she didn't. But most of all, she regretted letting him go. Because now that she had no one, she really wished John was there with her to help her through it all. His silver-tongued remarks always made her smile, even if they always made Bobby cringe.

There were periods of time where she had mourned his absence. But Bobby had been there to comfort her throughout. And she was glad he did.

Until she lost him after taking the Cure.

Hell, she had lost Bobby Drake to this pansy little girl they called 'Kitty'. What was up with that? Her real name was _Katherine_ for crying out loud! Marie snorted, wiping the tears off her face roughly with the sleeve of her coat. Everything she did had been for nothing. She took the Cure in hopes that Bobby would pay more attention to her instead of that pathetic, helpless little _'Kitty Pryde'_. But that hadn't changed a thing. When they had, at last, managed their first passionate kiss when she returned, Marie had felt no passion from him. None. All that Bobby wanted was Kitty Pryde.

She had lost him and she felt cheated.

She had lost everyone and she was far from okay.

-

**_The Phoenix_**

In her last dying moments, all Jean Grey could do was _remember_.

She was trapped in her own mind and she had always wanted to break free. She knew that the Professor had kept most of her power and consciousness under wraps because he knew she wouldn't have been able to control it. How bloody wrong he was.

She had all the power in the world. Who was _he_ to think he could stop her from using her gift? _All_ of her gift? She felt burning hatred towards the man who had encaged her mind; put limits and barriers everywhere. She had always felt deceived, _confined,_ by that manipulative mind-reading bastard.

When she finally gained full control over her powers, she felt the raw energy of the Phoenix course through her. And she had felt like her true self. Undetained, feared and _unstoppable. _It was all she wanted. And she didn't want it to be fixed. _Never_.

But...

Maybe, just maybe, he had been right all along. Maybe, just maybe, she had lost control somewhere along the way.

In her last dying moments, all jean Grey saw was death and destruction all around her.

She died in the arms of the one person who truly loved her.

She _had_ lost control. Somewhere along the way.

But deep inside, she knew, the day she _really_ died was the day she became the Phoenix and killed off _Jean Grey._

That was the day she fell from grace; never to get back up again - a Phoenix never to be reborn.

-

**_The Manipulator_**

He was hiding. And he damn well knew why. Because he knew that the whole world would be hunting him down with guns, heavy artillery and whatever else they had. But then again, his power was returning. Slowly, but surely coming back nonetheless. _All the better._ He hated it. Hated the feeling of being powerless, being weak and victimised... being _human_.

He didn't understand why everyone was being so hostile about it; mutant affairs. He also didn't understand why the mutants themselves would succumb to the rest of humanity. As though they were somehow _afraid _of their powers. Afraid of what they would do to the people around them, to the people they _loved_.

Erik Lensherr gave a short laugh. They all put people before powers. He did the exact opposite. In fact, he would kill to get his own way. The people in his life meant nothing to him. Just like Mystique had been nothing to him once she lost her gift. He was pretty sure that he would do the same thing to anyone and everyone else had they been in her position. He would readily betray and misuse people in an attempt to right the world.

Once he had his power back, he would rise up again. Because it was just like him to do that. It was in his blood. Time and again, his plans would be foiled; by the damn X-Men, by the homo sapiens - and he would fall from his high pedestal.

But he would only step back up again.

Because it was in his blood.

When he fell from grace, he would only get back up again. And take on the world.

-

**_The Dying Flame_**

Loose rubbish and newspaper clippings were flying in every odd direction as an abrupt gust of wind blew through the narrow street. He deftly seized a piece of paper that flew past his head. It was something that caught his eye. Because his face, along with many others, were printed in a small corner just beside a long article. He scanned the words briefly.

_"Efforts to locate the remaining mutants responsible for the attack on Alcatraz Island have been discontinued. The mutant who's given himself the namesake 'Magneto' has yet to be found. However, the state government has-"_

John Allerdyce snorted, letting go of the trash in his hand and pulling the hood of his dark cloak further over his head.

His life was a mess. That much he knew.

A huge, fucking mess.

Parts of him wanted to scream out loud and just kill himself. At least then he wouldn't have to face all this shit anymore. But parts of him wanted to redeem himself. To believe that everything wasn't as bad as it all seemed.

Who the hell was he kidding?

Wasn't as bad as it all seemed? Yeah right.

He wondered whether it had all been worth it. Leaving the X-Men to fight for his rights with the Brotherhood. Why had he left in the first place? Wasn't he happy with the people back at the Institute? Wasn't he _content_ with the friends he had? Didn't he even _have_ friends?

John laughed bitterly. Friends. Right. Whatever friends he had were now obviously enemies.

Bobby Drake. He despised that name. Truth be told, they were never truly friends. They were too much the opposite. In terms of personality _and_ powers. Fire and ice don't mix. Pyro and Iceman don't mix. They never do and never will. Hell, they were so bloody competitive and he couldn't understand why. They had even competed for the affections of an innocent, lost soul who turned out to be none other than Marie. But Bobby had it his way and claimed Marie before he could. If the stupid iceboy hadn't sent his fireball crashing to the ground and given her that bloody ice rose, he was sure it would've been _him_ she'd chosen.

Marie. Rogue. Whatever. She was more of a friend to him than Bobby ever was. Only because she was so much like him and nothing like the Iceman. He didn't understand why she stuck by that fool all the time. He was a coward - afraid of a fight, afraid of using his powers in public, afraid of _everything_. Marie had been afraid too. But she had a good reason to be. With powers like that, hell, who wouldn't be afraid? But she was so much like John because she felt the need to find release and freedom. From everyone holding them back.

He shook his head and continued down the narrow street. Why was he thinking of this _now_? They were gone from his life, he knew that. He would never see them again. Or at least he _didn't_ want to see them again. Why would he want to see someone who beat him at a game of fire-and-ice and _then_ knocked him out with a cold, rock-hard head? Why would he want to see someone who betrayed their own kind by taking the Cure?

A sudden streak of lightning flashed across the sky. And then the first drops of rain started to fall from the heavens above.

_Damnit._

His fingers were aching to feel the warmth of a fire. Aching to control it. But he couldn't do it here. Not now. Not when there was a rainstorm on its way.

Sighing heavily, St. John Allerdyce went off in search of shelter that would last him the night.

-

_-(A/N)-: Wow. **Angst**. I'm on an angst-writing spree. Review please. I love constructive reviews._


End file.
